


Bunker Blues

by SilverFlameAlchemist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst, Big Brother Dean, Big Brother Sam, Castiel Doesn't Handle Human Emotions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Don't End in Blood, Fluff, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Nameless Characters, Pie Therapy, Reader-Insert, There's Some Shipping But Only If You Squint, Triggers, lots of feels, makeshift family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:57:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9481877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFlameAlchemist/pseuds/SilverFlameAlchemist
Summary: "I'm no Hunter." She snorted, sending him an exasperated look. "You are to me." He shot back without missing a beat. "And I don't care what I have to do; I will do it in a heartbeat, because that's what family does for each other."





	1. The Hangman's Tree

**Author's Note:**

> There was this creepy-looking tree not far from where I live, and I saw it everyday on the way to school. I even saw vultures in it more than once. Good times.

Bright eyes peered up into the branches of the tree above the girl circling around the base slowly as she inspected it, the ghostly bark nearly luminescent in the light from the moon above her. She had passed by this tree more times than she could honestly count, never giving it much thought before now, but suddenly she couldn't get it off her mind. It was like the tree had become outlined with darker colors, suddenly a bold image in the otherwise drab landscape, and she refused to leave until she figured out why.

A soft cough from behind her made her turn around, a tall figure standing not six feet from her, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched her patrol around the base of the tree.

"You find what you're looking for, yet?"

"What do you think?" She asked in reply, stopping on the same side of the tree as him. "It's apparently not in a talkative mood today."

He laughed at that, moving to stand right beside her, the difference in their height now much more pronounced.

"Alright, I borrowed a book that should help out some, but I don't know what you plan to find… It looks like just another tree to me."

She pointed upwards with a frown, indicating the two massive buzzards that were perched in the top most branches of the tree.

"Does that look normal to you?"

He shrugged. "We're right near the highway, aren't we? Carrion birds can't be that uncommon around here."

"At eleven thirty at night?" She dead-panned, eyebrows arching as she dared him to question the suspiciousness of two big black vultures lurking in an otherwise completely barren tree.

"I should know better than to argue with you by now." He admitted with a rueful grin.

"Yes, yes you should. Now come on, book-worm, get to reading." She motioned at the tome he was cradling in his large hands and he glanced down at it.

"I already did." He admitted with a shrug, as though that should have been obvious from the outset. "I came to tell you what I found."

"Oh…" She blinked repeatedly, trying to remind herself that he was not his brother and this sort of approach to a problem shouldn't surprise her. "Right then, what did you find?"

He eagerly opened the book to a page he'd carefully bookmarked (no doggy-ears, that was sacrilegious as far as he was concerned), and tapped a finger to one section in particular. "This is a Hangman's Tree."

"A what?" She asked, blinking in surprise at so sudden a discovery on why the tree had been bugging her.

"A Hangman's Tree," he repeated, "once upon a time they used to hang outlaws from trees by main roads that led to towns to warn other bandits and such, there's a bunch of lore on the outlaws coming back to haunt the towns or even the trees where they were hung…" He trailed off, looking up into the tree. "This fits the description "barren even in the best of times", and once I did a little digging I came up with a record for a tiny little town that used to be out here. I'm guessing this was the tree they used."

"Well then." She mused faintly, tipping her head back to eye the vultures suspiciously. "What do we do about it?"

"Nothing." He replied promptly. "I already checked it out and there haven't been any hauntings here, or anywhere in town, so the tree stays." He shrugged, looking a little guilty. "Besides, we might actually make the spirits here mad if we burn it down, sometimes they get attached in a positive way, like how kids get attached to toys; or something…"

She smiled. "You're such a softy."

He nudged her gently, acutely aware of how much more physical strength he had than her. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead and lay it on while you can. Just be glad I'm the one who came tonight. A certain someone was planning to bring a whole gallon of gasoline and his favorite lighter just because you got a little spooked."

She grinned. "N'aww, I'm flattered." She looked back up into the branches and sighed softly. "So, it's a Hangman's Tree, huh?"

He nodded, putting his free arm around her shoulders and smiling down at her. "Well then, now that we've got that cleared up, do you want to go get some dinner? I hear the diner in town serves a mean bacon cheeseburger."

She laughed at that, putting her arm around his waist and starting to turn away from the tree. "Alright, you win. Away we go."

She decided not to mention the pale rider she saw out of the corner of her eye as they walked away from the Tree, or the soft laugh that assaulted her ears as she smiled and realized that restraint probably was the best course of action here.

"Rest easy, Outlaws…"


	2. Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we just take a moment to appreciate how adorable this would be?

A chill danced up her spine as the wind changed direction and caught her off guard, inching under the thin fabric of her dress and creeping along her skin. It was spring, edging towards summer, but the weather had different plans for how the climate would act, and thus the cool winds played with the strands of her hair and the beaded ends of her scarf.

A jacket dropped onto her shoulders suddenly, the brown leather of the over-sized article reflecting the light from the street lamps and blocking out the chilly winds. It was still body-temperature from its previous owner, and the arm that encircled her shoulders was just as warm as the jacket's lining.

"Better?" The whisper was hot against her ear as the lips that formed it quirked up at the corners, a curious nose nudging against the ridge of her ear.

She nodded shyly, tugging the edges of the jacket closer and snuggling into the warm interior further. "Yeah. Much."

The hand on her shoulder squeezed more tightly and a kiss descended against her temple, his presence filling her with more warmth than the jacket ever could as the two sat and looked out over the lights of the city.

The weather could do whatever it jolly well pleased, as long as she could keep sitting with him like this.


	3. Staring Contest

She was kneeling beside the bed, arms folded with her chin propped atop them and eyes focused on the creature on the other side of the bed. The brunette was sleeping, slow, even breaths leaving him in a gentle rhythm, but it wasn't his peaceful face that interested her.

The wing that rose up from his back and arched up into the air over his shoulder is what held her attention so completely.

The bases, where the feathers descended back under his shoulder blades, were the purest white- like the crests of waves just before they crashed onto the shore. They bled from white to a crystalline blue, the shift gradual and glorious to behold. Beyond that, they began to slowly turn a deeper blue, the color of the sky at dawn. The tips of the wings were the deepest shade of midnight blue. There was a sheen to them, like a million tiny stars caught in that midnight shy, and they shimmered when they caught the light. She wanted to ask him about them, touch them if he would let her, but she resigned herself to do nothing more than simply stare at them as he continued to sleep.

She smiled softly as they spread wide with a sigh from the angel, his shoulders flexing with the motion before his eyes cracked open and he looked over at her. He blinked repeatedly, as if trying to be sure she was there, before he spoke, eyes narrowing curiously.

"How long have you been there?"

"Long enough." She replied evasively, watching the wings fold themselves back against his skin, tucking themselves away until they disappeared entirely. "Did I wake you?"

"I don't sleep."

"I would argue that." She teased. "Cause I don't know what else you would call whatever it was you were just doing."

"I was meditating."

"Sure you were."

He didn't respond, instead watching her as she continued to look at him, his blue eyes softer now, his mouth almost forming a smile.

She arched an eyebrow at him as the curve of one wing reappeared over his shoulder, now that he wasn't thinking about it they had come back out to play.

"You planning on making this a staring contest?" She asked.

He smiled then, a fleeting expression that quickly faded, sitting up properly. She pulled herself up onto the edge of the bed, eyebrows still raised, awaiting his reply.

"We could." He admitted. "But I have a feeling you have questions you'd rather be asking."

She grinned. "Well, now that you mention it…"


	4. The Guns of Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #ThisIsWhyWeDontTakePeopleHunting

hots rent the still night air; four in quick succession, and the man with the green eyes whirled around on his heel and started searching the darkness, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest. It wasn't the shots that had startled him, he had heard enough of those in his lifetime to no longer be startled by the sound, but it was instead the thought of whoever might have been firing them.

His brother might be the one pulling the trigger, that would make sense and make him feel less uncomfortable about it- his brother shot things all the time, it was part of their job. But if it hadn't been his brother, if it had been the girl who was with him, with _them_ , then… He didn't like to think what would have made a girl like her pull the trigger of a gun.

Another two shots sounded, and he bolted in the direction of them, no longer caring who was firing them or why- instinct giving in to reason as he ran along the dark street and tried to shut his brain up from thinking so much. There would be a logical explanation. There had to be. There had to be a reason why. There was always a reason why.

He rounded the corner at the end of the alley and skidded to a halt, his boots slipping a little on the wet cement beneath him. The end of the alley was covered in graffiti, some of it legible designs and others crudely drawn tags that covered the brick below.

It took him perhaps six seconds for him to register what, no, _who_ \- was slumped on the floor of the alley. Silver gleamed in the dim light from the streetlights, and he knew without looking twice that there was a gun clutched in the smaller figure's hand. Her head was at an unnatural angle, her whole figure limp in his brother's arms.

Green eyes stared unseeing at the figure on the ground and his heart stopped its frantic pounding in his chest- in fact it stopped pounding at all.

" _No._ "

It wasn't a declaration, it was a desperate _plea_. It was a need, a desire, an absolute _requirement_ that she not be what he thought she was.

"No." Sam mumbled, a confirmation beyond the belated registration in Dean's brain that her chest was still moving, she was still breathing. "No, no, not that."

Sam leaned forward until his forehead was pressed to hers, a sigh leaving him as his frame relaxed and another shuddering breath left him.

"She kill it?" Dean didn't care what it was, at this point; he just wanted to know if she _had_. He wanted to know why there were so many shots, why there had been a gap between them.

"Yeah." There was a chuckle in Sam's voice as he lifted his head, looking across the alley to where the thing now lay, bleeding sluggishly against another back wall. "Yeah, she's a hell of a shot."

Dean laughed, a strangled, desperate sound, and finally found his willpower to move again, taking shaking steps towards his brother and the girl in his arms. She looked like she was sleeping, which he supposed she was, in a way, and all the worry lines he had seen on her face before were missing now. It was too close to the alternative to make him feel comfortable.

"Wake her up."

The brunette did as he was told; whispering and rousing her gently back into consciousness, not the way he usually woke people up.

She blinked up at them before she winced and started to lift her hand to her head, stopping when she realized it was heavier than usual. She stared at the gleaming silver gun she was holding, as though it were some completely foreign object.

" _Oh_."

Dean stooped and snatched it up, his mouth a rigid line of disapproval as he tucked it back into his waistband and felt his heart start to do odd things under his ribs again as he looked down at her and the shocked expression she was wearing.

"Next time, you can get your _own_ gun. Like hell you're stealing _mine_ again."

She shot him a signature look, a mixture of apologetic and oddly pleased over his worried expression, and he wiped a hand over his face and turned to look at the monster she'd ganked.

"Did I kill it?" She asked softy, hopefully, curiosity and surprise clear in her voice.

"Yeah, you killed it." Sam answered. "I just shot it again to make sure."

She laughed at that, the sound flooding him with relief over the fact that she was _alright_. That she was still with them. That this hadn't turned out like so many other times in his life. That this was not her last night with his gun. With _any_ gun.

That this was not her last night at all.

* * *


	5. When Ghosts Come To Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moar Comforting!

"Hey." The brunette plopped down onto the chair next to her; gaze cautiously averted as he took a long gulp from the brown bottle in his hand. "You're up late."

"Got a surprise visit from some unwanted guests." She replied simply, tipping her head back to rest along the back of the chair. It was dark in the common room of the bunker, the only real light coming from the map table. "So rude, waking me up at this hour."

"You mean you were actually asleep?" She shot him a glare, which was deflected by staring pointedly at the ceiling. "So, who was it? Usually your visitors are welcome, even this late at night."

"Ghosts." She _heard_ his head snap around to look at her, his Hunter instincts going into overdrive as he waited to hear the rest of what she'd say. "Not that kind, the kind that whisper nasty things in my ear and refuse to leave me alone."

"Point me to a corpse and I'll light that sucker up." He grumbled. "You know how this works. I'll gank any monster that tries to get to you. We've had this discussion."

"It's not that kind of ghost." She repeated, turning to look at him and smiling softly. "If it were, I'd let you burn its bones in a heartbeat, but you can't."

He snorted softly, but refused to say anything else on the subject, instead burying his comment in another swig from his bottle. "So what were they saying this time?"

"The usual." She shrugged, already in uncomfortable territory by even discussing this with the green-eyed man. "Nothing nice. Nothing worth repeating."

He looked at her, a frown tugging at his lips. "You know, that makes me a particular kind of uncomfortable, when you say that. Seriously, how am I supposed to take that? You gotta give me more than that."

"Usually it's something about how useless I am." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but she knew he could hear her. "Like I said; nothing nice."

He stared at her, surprise evident in his expression. "You are _not_ useless. You know that, right? You're better than a whole mess of people- most of whom I have met in person."

She snorted at that, sending him an exasperated look. "I'm no Hunter."

"You are to me." He shot back without missing a beat, eyes soft but expression serious. "And I don't care what I have to do to get those ghosts off your case; I will do it in a heartbeat, because that's what family does for each other." His mouth quirked up on one side, an expression she had seen so many times and could never really forget. "So when I say I'm ready to burn some bones, I don't necessarily mean that literally."

"Although you'd totally go for that, given a chance." She added, smirking.

"Damn right I would." He toasted her with a tip of his bottle and then took a swig, smirking back at her. "So whatcha say we get to burning those suckers up?"


	6. Bleeding is a Luxury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the song "Bleeding is a Luxury" by: Atreyu

"C'mere."

It wasn't a request or a suggestion, it was a command, and she followed it without hesitation, moving into the hug that was waiting for her. Strong, warm arms wrapped around her gently, pulling her into an equally warm chest, and a sigh breezed softly past her ear and lost itself in her hair.

"I thought I told you, I'll make anyone who tries to hurt you pay for it." His voice was low and a little gruff, and she knew he was upset. But he wasn't upset with _her_ , and that was what mattered.

She shrugged, not trusting her vocal chords to do as she wished with him so close. She could smell the whisky on him, leather and gunpowder too, all undercut by the sharp smell of cheap soap from the last motel they had crashed at. He smelled like the outside world, and she found refuge in the fact that he still somehow managed to smell like home to her.

"Any monsters you want me to gank for you? Cause you know I will without batting an eye. It's what I do." He held on just a little tighter, turning his head to a different angle in order to whisper the next words into her ear, like a secret only she could know. "For us, bleeding is a luxury. And it isn't one I ever want you to experience."

She returned the hug, then, slipping her arms under his leather jacket in order to wrap around him snugly. She sighed softly, basking in his warmth and wishing it would just swallow her whole. She wanted to lose herself in that warmth, in his voice, in his battered leather jacket and classic car. She wanted to run away with him, because she'd always been good at that, always been the one to drop everything and retreat when things got too hard because she bled _so easily_.

"You wear your heart on your sleeve, because then you can show people how much you care, but you get bruised _so quickly_ , it hurts to watch." He pulled away far enough to kiss her forehead, and she clenched her hands in his shirt to keep from crying. "I don't wanna see you bleed any more. Not for me or anyone else." He shifted, taking her weight onto himself more, and calloused fingers worked through her hair slowly. "I'm sick and tired of watching you cry."

She nearly wept at the tone in his voice, aware that whenever she suffered, so did the others she cared about. They wanted to protect her, to keep her safe and ensure that she would make it through life just fine, but times like these… Times like these made her wish she could give them exactly what they wanted, made her wish that she could have a heart made of something stronger than flesh and blood so that _this wouldn't keep happening_.

He pulled away slowly, the motion almost telling her by itself that this hug wasn't over and she wasn't going to get out of more affection that easily. The hand in her hair pulled through the locks one more time before it came up to catch her chin, his thumb stroking the skin just under her lips. "I know I'm not that good at the whole fixing thing, always been more prone to breaking stuff than anything else, but can you let me try, at any rate?" His eyes were full of doubt, as though worried that she would refuse him, and his smile was shy and hopeful.

She nodded, trying not to choke on more tears, and that grin of his she loved so much spilled across his face as he swooped in and kissed her forehead again, hand sliding along her cheek to the back of her neck and holding her carefully in place. "You don't need their approval, you know. The rest of us love you enough to make up for it, anyhow."

A grin slid onto her lips, unbidden, when she realized he was including himself on that list. "I know I don't need it." She whispered into his shoulder as he pulled her close again. "But some days I want it all the same."

He snorted softly, the warm breath brushing past her ear as he held her tightly once more. "You shouldn't want something so useless and fleeting. It'll do you no good in the end."

She hummed softly, shutting her eyes and feeling the worry start to melt away from the warmth of being held in his arms. "Okay, Dean."


	7. One of the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Family don't end in blood. But it doesn't start there, either."

He grabbed her hand as she tried to walk by, giving it a swift tug and hauling her over the back of the couch, indignant squeal and all. He chuckled as she landed haphazardly beside him, a jumble of limbs and clothing and tangled hair. She managed to right herself and stare up at him from where her head rested in his lap, her cheeks tinting pink and her frown belied by the laughter in her eyes.

"I needed your attention." He explained, as though it were perfectly normal to get someone's attention that way.

"You could have asked." She pointed out, grumbling as the hand still on her wrist loosened its grip to something much more affectionate.

"I did. Two minutes ago. You were in the middle of something, so I took more direct action." He grinned, and there was no way she could say no to the combination of _that_ grin with _those_ eyes. "So, do I have your attention now?"

She nodded mutely, trying to remember how speech worked in normal English and failing miserably.

"What's got under your skin?" He went right to the point, not even bothering with his usual half-hearted attempts to butter her up with small talk first. His eyebrows were drawn together in what was almost a frown, but it strayed from the stern expression by the lack of compression in his lips, and the almost fond look in his eyes. "Something's eatin' at you, and I don't like it."

"Most people don't like getting eaten." She replied without missing a beat, her usual sarcasm coming to help her cover for what she didn't want him to see. "I hear it's nearly as bad as getting hauled over the backs of sofas."

"You love me and you know it." He grinned again, and she stuck her tongue out at him. She tried to get up then, as though that brought an end to the conversation, but he still had hold of her wrist, and he bent her arm over her chest and held her hand down against his knee, trapping her where she was. "Talk to me."

Those three little words hit her right in the gut, and she couldn't recover fast enough to find a convenient lie. "I can't remember who I am. Like, you know who you are, your brother knows who he is, you struggle with whether you're doing the right thing sometimes, but you always know who you are." She shrugged, the motion made awkward by his continued hold on her wrist. "Sometimes I don't remember who I am."

He blinked, as though that weren't the answer he was expecting, and then frowned for real. "But you're you." He shook his head, as though that should have been the obvious answer right from the start. "You're a little crazy, and more than a little awesome, and you have a mind like a super ridiculous hedge-maze sometimes, but you're still… _you_. Still the girl we love and one of the people we'd be happy to bleed for if it meant keeping you safe." He gave her a little shake, that soft, rare smile spilling out onto his lips as he continued. "You're one of the family. And don't you dare forget it."


	8. Pie Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part writing prompt inspired, part friend inspired. Entirely fluff.

The phone starts wiggling its way across the middle of the front seat, and Dean spares it a passing glance before he nudges it one-handed toward Sam. The brunette snorts softly before he picks it up, answering and putting it on speaker.

"What's up, Cass?"

" _Get back here now. We need you."_

Dean's foot involuntarily jerks forward, hitting the accelerator harder as the muscle in his jaw jumps and Sam has a flash of wild panic fill his eyes.

"Whoa, slow down, what's wrong?" Sam tries to keep calm as Dean hurtles them along the stretch of backroad, foot now firmly pressed to the floor, both hands on the wheel.

" _She's crying."_

There's dead silence from all three of them for the span of about thirty seconds, the only sound the rumble of the engine and the white-noise of tires on asphalt, Dean's breathing suddenly hiking up in intensity, knuckles turning white as they clutch the steering wheel.

"What happened?" Sam presses the angel for information, voice shaking at the edges as he stares at the phone, like if he concentrates hard enough he can fall through it and to where she is.

" _I don't know. I left to get supplies, and when I got back she was curled up in a corner, crying. I don't know what to do. I—What do I do?"_

"Hold the fort; we'll be back in two shakes." Dean snatches the phone back, hanging up.

"Dean." Sam's voice is almost a reprimand, but there's an undercurrent of soft concern that the elder Hunter hears and appreciates.

"Five minutes, Sammy." He promises, pressing his foot even harder into the pedal, despite it having nowhere to go. "Just five minutes."

* * *

Cass is standing awkwardly by the doorway to the library when Dean and Sam get back to the bunker, and before Dean can say anything, the angel has a finger against his lips, jerking his head behind him.

There she is, curled up with her knees to her chest, her head bent to hide her face. Cass's coat is draped over her shoulders a little sloppily, and her knuckles are white where she's clutching the edges of the fabric, pulling it in closer around her.

Sam's the first to move, taking the steps two at a time as he lopes over to her, kneeling in front of her, a hand landing on her knee as he leans in close, voice soft and low.

"Hey, hey, it's going to be okay. We're here."

She's up in a second, her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder, and he holds her tight as he bends to accommodate her height, enveloping her in warm arms, shushing her softly, a hand stroking over her hair.

Dean's reaction is slower, more awkward, and he hurries from the stairs down the hall to the kitchen, blustering about for a moment before he returns with a slice of pie and a shot of whiskey. He drops both unceremoniously onto the map-table before he rushes up to where she is, scooping her up into his arms as Sam slides away from her, the transition smoothly executed so she doesn't go a second without contact.

"Hey, I got you, okay?" Dean whispers, holding her for a moment before he starts to carry her to the table, taking it slow so as not to jostle her. "I got you some pie, if you want it. I promise it'll help."

She giggles, the sound wet with tears and strained, but Dean takes the win, kissing the top of her head.

"C'mon. Let's get some of that in you. We're right here. We're not gonna leave you alone."

He sets her gently on the edge of the table, perching beside her, a hand smoothing over her back as Sam offers her the pie.

Cass drifts over, uncertain and uncomfortable, but she offers him a shy, weak smile, and he huddles in closer, eyebrows knitting together as he reaches out to put a hand on her knee, thumb running lightly over the seam of her jeans before he pulls back and dips his head to stare at the ground.

She downs the pie in record time, washing it down with the whiskey, a faint hiss leaving her as it burns pleasantly down her throat. She looks at the empty glass as she turns it in her hand, leaning into Dean instinctively, shoulders curling forward as she tries to make herself as small as possible.

"Thank you." Her voice is ragged at the edges and weak, but they hear her all the same.

"Hey, anytime." Dean smiles, kissing her head again, sliding an arm around her, pulling her into another hug. "Pie therapy is what I'm here for."

**Author's Note:**

> Supernatural and all related characters belong to: Eric Kripke


End file.
